It's Not Your Fault
by Shirley Jean
Summary: ...Try as he might, the detective tried to keep his partner's blood at bay, but it oozed between his fingers at a steady pace. His own dizziness threatened to seize him, but he had a harder battle to fight...


"Hey, you! Cops! I'm thirsty!" Whined an annoying voice from the other room.

"Then get off your butt and get a drink!" Starsky shouted back.

"I swear to God, I'm this close to handing him over to the drug cartel myself!" He muttered to Hutch.

"Me too. I can't believe we got stuck with his protection detail." Detective Hutchinson huffed.

"You think Dobey's still punishing us for that little incident last week?" Starsky tried to look innocent.

"Yep. He knows full well that Billy Maxwell is the most annoying, spoiled, pain-in-the-butt kid out there. And now, just because his daddy is filthy rich, he gets special protection." Hutch stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah. Us." Starsky complained, looking at his watch again.

"Uh, hell-o! There's no food in here! How am I supposed to testify if I starve to death?!" Starsky couldn't take it anymore. With Hutch following closely behind, they opened the fridge.

"Bread…ham…cheese…mayo…lettuce…" He said, slamming each item on the counter. "Now shut up, and make a sandwich!" Starsky shouted, shutting the fridge door.

"How?" Maxwell asked.

The detectives shared an incredulous look.

"Figure it out!" Hutch replied caustically.

"You can't treat me this way! Just wait 'til my father hears about this. He'll…" The doorbell interrupted the spoiled kids' rant, making him jump. "W-who's that?"

"Well, if there's a God in Heaven, it's the next shift of officers here to guard you!" Starsky quipped, rolling his eyes.

Hutch placed a hand on his gun in its' holster, and Starsky readied his. Peering through the peephole in the door with his partner a few feet behind, Detective Starsky saw two uniformed officers. Holstering his weapon, he eagerly opened the door, anxious to be relieved of this horrendous babysitting duty.

"You have no idea how great it is to see you guys! He's ALL yours. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to the kitch-"

Three deafening cracks rang out, causing the detectives to be thrown backward and hit the ground with a thud. More resounding cracks of gunfire ensued, leaving the imposter officers in a felled, bloody heap on the floor.

A jolt of pain shot through the detectives' arm, leaving a crimson pool of defeat forming on the floor beneath him. Shaking his head to clear the confusion and pain, he needed to get his bearings.

His partner lay in front of him; unmoving, taking on the appearance of a corpse. He crawled over to him, shocked at the gaping hole in his partner's chest.

He ignored the fire of pain of his own bullet wound to place his hands on the open wound of his partner's chest.

"Com'on, stay with me…MAXWELL! Call for help…DO IT NOW!" He yelled to their charge, who was cowering in the corner.

"MAXWELL! MOVE! NOW!" The scared youth slowly made his way to the phone, and shakily dialed.

Try as he might, the detective tried to keep his partner's blood at bay, but it oozed between his fingers at a steady pace. His own dizziness threatened to seize him, but he had a harder battle to fight.

His partner's eyes began to flutter, and he began to squirm beneath his shaky hands.

"Com'on…look at me. Stay with me…help's on the way." His partner began to flail, the pain registering now. He blindly grasped at the air until he found the wrist of his best friend; his partner. He grabbed on for dear life.

Terrified wide eyes, looking for assurance, locked onto the worried eyes of his partner.

"Jus' keep still…I hear sirens…help's almost here. Don't you leave me…" The scared detective pleaded. The downed and bloodied detective tried to open his mouth in an effort to speak as help came charging through the door. Captain Dobey was right behind them.

The detective could feel his partner slipping away and felt powerless to stop it. He took his blood covered fingers and placed them on his best friends' neck. Panic filled his heart and mind as he began to actively pump his friend's chest.

"Don't do this to me…Com'on!" He pumped mercilessly until he felt arms pulling him away. He cried out in frustration, and his own pain.

"You need to let them work. Take it easy." Dobey stood protectively with his detective, as the paramedics worked feverishly.

The prone and blood covered detective looked so pale and lifeless. One paramedic suggested they call it, when a gasp of air escaped the seemingly lifeless man, and then another.

Not wasting any time, he was quickly loaded and rushed off to the hospital. Their Captain helped the remaining detective to his feet, noticing him waiver as he stood.

"Let's get you to the hospital too." Dobey said gently, as he placed a stabilizing arm around his waist. The horrified detective didn't speak. He didn't look up from the bloody pool of his partner's blood that remained on the linoleum floor, or all the blood that still covered his hands.

He just stared, and began to shake.

"Hutchinson…I want you to look at me now." Dobey waited for the shaking man to lift his head.

"It's gonna be alright. You hear me?"

S&H***S&H***S&H

As he sat at Starsky's bedside clutching his partner's hand like a lifeline, Hutch's mind went over the events that landed him there. He painfully adjusted his arm in the sling as he thought about how he should have been more on guard, maybe taken the job more seriously, that he should have went to the door instead of Starsky…He should have –

"Hutch…" A soft, hoarse whisper from the bed pulled him from his thoughts. Starsky's eyes were open halfway, blinking groggily up at him.

"Hey, buddy, how ya feeling?" Hutch asked, relief written all over his face.

"T-tired. Hard t' breathe. Why's m'chest hurt?" He mumbled.

"You got shot, remember?" Starsky shook his head, growing agitated.

"N-no…I don't…I…what?" He rambled, attempting to sit up.

"Shhhh. Hey, hey. Take it easy." Hutch soothed as he gently pushed his best friend back down on the hospital bed.

"They just took you off the ventilator yesterday and your lungs are still weak. It's okay if you can't remember. You're gonna be fine, Starsk." Starsky simply nodded, too exhausted to do much else. Hutch smiled reassuringly.

"Wha' 'appened?"

"Remember being assigned to the Maxwell kid's protection detail?" Starsky thought for a moment.

"Yeah. Kid's a brat." Hutch chuckled.

"That he is, buddy. Anyway, a couple guys came to the door dressed as Bay City PD officers. The moment you opened the door, they shot you." Starsky took a minute to digest what he heard.

"You…you okay?" He asked. Hutch rubbed his injured arm and sighed.

"Me? I'm not the one who nearly died, Starsk."

"Died?"

"came this close to losing you, Starsk. For a while there, it was touch and go. But that doesn't matter right now, because you are going to be fine. It's gonna take some time, But I'm going be here every step of the way. Our wonderful city is paying for the best care – I guess Dobey felt guilty for forcing us to do that gig. He feels pretty bad." Starsky could see in his partners eyes that there was more.

"Hutch. S'not your fault."

"Starsk, I should've…" Starsky lifted his hand to cut him off.

"Not your fault, blondie."

"Okay buddy. I get it."

"Good. Stop with the guilty face now."

Hutch laughed.

"Great to have you back, buddy."

"S'good to be back, blintz. Go get some sleep. You look like crap." Starsky mumbled as he drifted off to sleep. Hutch stood and watched his friend quietly for a moment, and smiled to himself, releasing the shaky breath he had held for what seemed like forever. He tiredly resumed his spot in the hard plastic chair that had become his home for the past several days, resuming his protective vigil.

"Good night, buddy." He whispered.

END


End file.
